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The hotMaMa Diaries

Everyone has a different experience of parenting and motherhood and there is no right or wrong path along this crazy journey. The hotMaMa diaries is a place to read stories from other mothers and even share your own!

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  1. Social media is awash at the minute with mothers celebrating their post birth body. They are embracing their lumps, bumps and imperfections because their body created amazing little people. They grew humans inside of them and then brought them into the world to breath new life. It’s wonderful to see such an outpouring of love and pride for a realistic image of a woman’s body. It’s left me feeling a bit left out though.

    You see, my body didn’t create my little human. Another woman did that. She grew and nurtured our daughter in her tummy. She felt her first kick and watched her bump grow as our daughter developed in her womb. I can’t begin to imagine how she must have felt when her waters broke. She had already decided then she wasn’t going to be able to look after the baby she was about to bring into the world. She endured a no doubt excruciating labour knowing she wasn’t going to be taking home the little human she’d grown inside her for 9 months.

    For a long time, I fell out of love with my body. Since time began, women have become pregnant and given birth. I felt such a failure that I didn’t and incredibly let down by my body. It was the complete opposite to the way that the social media mums are loving their bodies because they created a life. I was loathing mine because it didn’t. Every month I’d get a punch in the face, as regular as clockwork, reminding me that my body COULD get pregnant, it just wasn’t.

    Infertility is one of those things that unless you’ve experienced it, you really can’t understand how someone who is going through it is feeling. Month after month, I’d be on a rollercoaster of hope at the start of my cycle, followed very quickly with crushing disappointment. Every twinge during the “2 week wait” would be analysed, googled, cherished and then quickly thrown away in despair.

    Why couldn’t I get pregnant? Everyone else seemed to be. I was reasonably fit and healthy, as was my husband. He went along with the endless attempts at new positions / baggy underwear / bath ban / vitamin overkill I forced on him as I desperately clung on to the hope that it would happen. During that time, my best friends had produced 10 kids between them and my sister had 2. There had been crushing miscarriages too, but 12 babies gave me hope that it would happen for us.

    But it didn’t. I felt completely inadequate. A failure as a woman. It wasn’t that I was getting pregnant and then my body rejected it. I just didn’t get pregnant. I have never experienced the thrill of a positive pregnancy test of my own. I’ve seen the line change for someone else which was a feeling I will never forget. It’s never happened to me though.

    If I’m being completely honest with myself, I think I knew that it never would. That thought didn’t help with the hurt and the pain and the all consuming disappointment I felt for a long time. My body had let me down, big time. I felt like I wasn’t a real woman because I couldn’t grow a human inside me. My lumps and bumps weren’t badges of honour. They were stark reminders every single day that my body hadn’t done what it was meant to.

    I was so desperate to become a mum. As the months went by I was terrified it was never going to happen. At times, I didn’t know if I could cope with that. I felt a physical ache as I contemplated a future not being a mum.

    I’m a great believer that things happen for a reason. The reason may not always be as clear as it could be, but it’s there, somewhere. The reason I didn’t get pregnant is because I wasn’t meant to. I wasn’t meant to be a tummy mummy. I was meant to grow my child in my heart. She grew there for a very long time, but once we met her, everything made sense.

    Mother nature decided that my route to motherhood was via adoption. I was always meant to be our daughter’s mum and if I’d got pregnant and had a birth child, that would never have happened. The thought of our daughter not being part of our lives utterly terrifies me.

    We waited such a long time to meet her. I get now though that I had to go through all of the pain, heartache and despair so that I could be her mum. And also so that I could appreciate how hard it must have been for her tummy mummy to walk away.

    So my body didn’t let me down at all. It took me on a journey and kept me going until our daughter was ready for us. My jelly belly may not have been created by our daughter growing inside me. It was created while she grew in my heart.

    ***************

    Read more from Suzy at www.wemadeawish.co.uk 

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  2. 10 weeks post partum and feeling grumpy and frumpy. Time to do something about it so did abit of research and found a class where you can take your baby! Great. Watched videos about the class on YouTube and signed up. Gulp.

    Thought about buying some new snazzy (yes, ‘snazzy’ because I’m THAT cool) active gear but then considered not only the cost but the fact they may not even get worn. I ended up at Tesco buying some Lycra bootcuts for £8. They’ll be comfy when I’m watching telly & feeding the baby at least!

    The morning of the class came. I got there early to psych myself up in the car. Practically sweating already from nerves and I’m not even in the class!

    I pretty much talked myself out of it but then remembered speaking to my 7 year old son, Max, that day while he ate his breakfast. “You got this Mum”. Gulp. Can’t let him down. Or Lily, who was in the car looking up at me expectedly.

    I took her out of the car and into her pram and walked in. Other mums around me were walking in and I judged how I’l thought I’d measure up. Was it too late to turn back?

    Finally I’m inside the studio, 10 yoga mats with weights are laid down in a semi circle with little baby play gyms in the middle for the babies.

    Lily stayed by my side in her car seat, she was the youngest there by a good few months so I wanted her close.

    The instructor welcomes me with a smile. I smile back hiding my fear!

    I can’t bring myself to look in the dance mirror which covers the entire wall so I focus on Lily.

    The beat starts. Not so much music. Beats. This isn’t a nice postnatal aerobics class. It’s HIT. High intensity Training. Bloody hell. 45minutes to go – 45 seconds on and 15 seconds off to breathe. Yes, you’re allowed 15 seconds. A whole 15 seconds to breathe.

    Gordon Bennett.

    I’m about 3 minutes in and we’ve already covered burpees and mountain climbers. Seriously. Google them if you don’t know what they are. Literally by the time it’s taken me to get down on the mat, the other mums are back up and on the next movement.

    7 minutes in and I am seriously considering walking out. But I don’t want to seem rude so I start thinking of other ways to get out asap.

    I could faint dramatically- I used to do drama, I’m sure I could make it believable. No, that’s not fair on Lily – they might call 999. They might call Social Services. I’d probably get arrested for wasting time. No. Can’t do that.

    By the time I’d come up with 3 alternative options I’d actually been in the class 30 minutes. Just do it, Hannah. 15 minutes left.

    And then It was over. I enjoyed the ‘cool down’ which was basically just stretching your arms. Sorted – I had that nailed.

    I made a quick exit after deciding I’m not quite ready for this level of intensity. I won’t be back. I’m proud at least for trying, but for now, I’m certainly more comfortable in a coffee house where my face is a relatively normal shade of pale and I can sit down. With no sweat patches.

    *******

    Read more from Hannah at https://mummyavecamour.wordpress.com/

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